The only thing we don't know is whether or not it will fit you, Sir."
"It should. I've been buying clothing there since I was in college."
Sessions handed him a shirt.
"There's only one way to know for sure, General."
Three minutes later, Flem Pickering was examining Brigadier General Fleming Pickering, USMCR, in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door.
I feel like one of the dummies in the Brooks Brothers windows.
I may be wearing this thing, but I am not, and there is no way I could be, a Marine general.
That Navy captain business was bad enough, but at least I have the right to wear those four gold stripes. I am an any-ocean, any-tonnage master mariner, entitled to wear the four stripes of a captain.
This is different.
"That fits perfectly," Sessions said. "Let's see about the cover.
He handed him a uniform cap. The entwined golden oak leaves decorating its brim-universally called "scrambled eggs"-identified the wearer as a general officer.
Pickering put it on and examined himself again.
The hat makes me look even more like a Brooks Brothers dummy.
"Looks fine, Sir," Sessions said.
"Looks fraudulent, Captain," Pickering said.
There was another knock at the door.
"Shall I get that, General?"
"Please," Pickering said. "Thank you."
He turned from the mirror and started gathering up the other uniforms on hangers and putting them into closets. Then he went back to the mirror and looked at himself again.
"Good afternoon, General," a strange voice said. "I'm Colonel Rickabee."
Pickering turned. A tall, thin, sharp-featured man was standing in the door to the bedroom. He was wearing a baggy, sweat-soaked seersucker suit and a battered straw snap-brim hat. In one hand he carried a well-stuffed briefcase identical to Sessions', and in the other he held a long, thin package wrapped in brown waterproof paper.
"I'm very happy to meet you, Colonel," Pickering said. "But I'm afraid I have to begin this conversation with the announcement that I feel like a fraud standing before you in a Marine general's uniform."
Rickabee met his eyes for a moment and then walked into the room. He put the briefcase on the floor and the long, thin package on the bed. He took a penknife from his pocket and slit the package open.
He pushed the paper away from a Springfield Model 1903.30-06 caliber rifle, picked it up, and handed it to Pickering.
"The General inadvertently left this behind when he checked out of the hospital, Sir. I took the liberty of having it sent here, Sir." Pickering took the rifle, and then (in Pavlovian fashion) worked the action to make sure it was unloaded. After that he raised his eyes to Rickabee.
"Thank you, Colonel," he said. "It means a good deal to me."
"I thought it would, General," Rickabee said. "That's almost certainly the only Springfield in the United States which has seen service on Guadalcanal." Pickering met his eyes again and after a moment said, "General Vandergrift told me to take it with me. When they ordered me off the island."
"Yes, Sir. So I understand. May I say something, General?" Pickering nodded.
"If General Vandergrift and Major Jack Stecker both think of you as a pretty good Marine, Sir, I don't think you should question their judgment." It was a long time before Pickering spoke. Finally he said, "Funny, Colonel, I have been led to believe-by the President, by the way-that you have an abrasive personality. That wasn't abrasive, that was more than gracious." Rickabee met his eyes for a moment and then changed the subject.
"I see the General has dealt with the uniform problem."
"Before I knew about the man at Quantico with the good prices. "
"Well, at least you're in the correct uniform for me to welcome you back into The Corps."
"Thank you," Pickering said. "I was just wondering what to do with my Navy uniforms. Send them home, I guess. Or find somebody who can use them."
"Thank you, Sir," Rickabee said. "We accept."
"You know someone who can use them?"
"Down the line, I'm sure, they can be put to good use," Rickabee said.
"I see," Pickering said, shaking his head. "OK. They're yours."
"Sessions has told the General, I hope, that we're setting up an office for him?" Pickering nodded.
"There has been a slight delay. The former occupant squealed like a stuck pig and complained to everybody he could think of," Rickabee said with obvious delight. "He lost his last appeal and has been ordered to clear out by noon tomorrow.
If the General has some reason to come into the office tomorrow, we will of course make room for him, but I would respectfully suggest that he wait one more day."
"Are you going to keep talking to me in the third person?"
"Not if the General does not wish me to."
"The General does not," Pickering said with a smile.
"Aye, aye, Sir."
"I thought that tomorrow I would go into Philadelphia to see Sergeant Moore. Is there any reason I can't do that?"
"You can go just about anywhere you want to, General," Rickabee said. He picked the briefcase up from the floor, unlocked it, opened it, and handed Pickering an envelope. "Your orders came in this morning, Sir."
Pickering opened the envelope.
The White House
Washington, D.C.